“May I help you?” she asked pleasantly.
“I’m Mike Andrews. I’d like to talk with a prisoner named Sam Miller.”
The woman pointed to a sign on the wall next to the opening. “Visiting hours are Wednesday evening from 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m., Saturday morning from 9:00 a.m. to noon, and Sunday afternoon from 1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m.”
“Oh, I’m a minister,” Mike said. “Mr. Miller’s wife asked me to visit him.”
“That doesn’t change the rules.”
Mike hesitated. “I’m also a lawyer.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have a picture ID and your attorney card?”
Mike took out his wallet and handed over his driver’s license and state bar association card. He’d maintained his law license by paying a small annual fee and attending a yearly seminar at the coast where he took enough classes to satisfy his continuing legal education requirement. Peg liked the beach, and in the afternoons Mike played golf.
The woman disappeared with the items. Mike waited, tapping his finger on the counter. When she didn’t return, Mike began to wonder if she was calling Raleigh to find out if anyone had reported a suspicious man traveling across the state impersonating an attorney. Finally, she reappeared, joined by a familiar face.
“Mike Andrews!” bellowed Chief Deputy Lamar Cochran. “What brings you down here?”
“Hey, Lamar, nothing different, still pretending to be a lawyer.”
“It’s okay,” Cochran said to the woman deputy. “Mr. Andrews practiced law before he went to preaching. Let him in.”
An electric buzzer sounded, and Mike pulled open the metal door. Cochran waited for him on the other side. The two men shook hands.
“You’ve kept your law license?” Cochran asked.
“Yeah, once you pass the bar exam, it’s hard to give it up. There’s not much required to maintain good standing, but I may go inactive in a few years.”
Mike followed Cochran into the booking area. A wire-mesh screen on one side of the room overlooked a broad hallway, the holding cell for drunks, and two interview rooms. The cell block lay behind another solid metal door.
“How do you know Sam Miller?” Cochran asked.
“I don’t. His wife stopped by the church and asked me to visit him. Is anyone representing him?”
“I don’t think so.” Cochran shook his head. “I’ve known Sam and Muriel since I was a kid. He’s a bit odd, but I always thought he was harmless.”
“Embezzlement?”
“Yeah,” Cochran said, lowering his voice. “But I hope it ain’t true. Sam is getting up in years and ought to be rocking on the back porch enjoying the mountains, not sitting in a cell block with a bunch of reprobates who broke the law while high on dope.”
“What about bond?”
“Too high for him to meet. I gave him the number for a bondsman but don’t know if he ever called him.”
“Well, let me have a look at him,” Mike said. “I’ll try to steer him in the right direction.”
“I’ll get him myself.”
Cochran entered the cell block. Mike stepped from the booking area into the hallway. He’d forgotten the smell and feel of the jail. The odor changed depending on the day of the week. Mike had visited the lockup on Saturday nights when there was no escaping the stench of stale sweat and human waste. By Monday afternoon, the foul odors of the weekend had been replaced by lemony disinfectant. Today, the floors were clean, the drunk tank empty. The feel of the jail, however, never changed. Despair clung to its walls. Hopelessness hovered in the air. When he left the correctional center, Mike always celebrated his freedom with a deep breath.
He opened the door to one of the interview rooms. It was empty. Glancing down at the table and chairs, he realized he hadn’t brought a legal pad. He thought about asking a booking officer for a sheet of paper but decided not to. He didn’t need to take notes. He wasn’t even sure why he’d come.
The door to the cell block opened. Cochran returned, followed by a white-haired, rotund man wearing an orange jumpsuit. The older man stepped from behind the chief deputy, saw Mike, and smiled.
“Hello, son,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Sam Miller. Thanks for coming.”
“You can use either room,” Cochran said.
“We’ll park in number one,” Mike replied. “I won’t be too long. I need to get back to the church.”
Mike held the door open for Sam, who lowered himself into a plastic chair. Mike sat on the opposite side of the table. He got right to the point.
“Why did you want to see me?”